let me give you my life
by gracelessheartlines
Summary: (or: twenty-one times they meet, collide, and destroy)


_title:_ **let me give you my life  
><strong>_fandom: _the mara dyer trilogy  
><em>characters: <em>noah shaw/mara dyer  
><em>information: <em>AU | oneshot | 976 words  
><em>summary: <em>(or: twenty-one times they meet, collide, and destroy)

_( turn the page, maybe we'll find a brand new ending )_

* * *

><p><em>one.<em>

Noah kisses her first, or maybe Mara kisses him first.

_two._

She's the girl who rushes into the classroom with a graphite pencil tucked in her wild messy hair and a worn sketchbook clutched in her hands.

He's the boy who casually lounges in his chair the back of the room and nonchalantly twirls the pen in his hand as he smirks at the girl.

The last available seat is next to him.

_three. _

Rachel is her best friend. He is her best friend's ex-boyfriend.

She doesn't see how this situation can work any other way.

_four. _

His reputation precedes him.

She has better things to do than pay attention to bathroom gossip. Even if it's about the ridiculously attractive British boy who offers to buy dinner at five-star restaurants and takes girls home with empty promises and forgets about them the day after.

She decides she doesn't want anything to do with that.

_five. _

He tries to save her from herself.

He gets too close to the flame, but nobody is left to watch him burn.

_six. _

They could belong on a post card: there's the white picket fence and two kids, a boy and a girl, and three dogs against the sunny backdrop of southern Florida. The husband drives a Prius and kisses his wife and children on his way to work. The wife drives the children to work and runs a successful local business from their home office.

That's not them.

_seven. _

He has the cold barrel of the gun pressed against his temple.

The gun doesn't jam. She screams.

_eight. _

She sits next to the vending machine, legs crossed and sketchbook in her lap. Her pencil absentmindedly loops "Mara Shaw" over and over again.

He sits at the lunch table with Anna's arm wrapped around his, his tie loose and his hair a disaster.

The bell rings and nothing has changed.

_nine. _

When the asylum falls, he has visions of a girl screaming for her life.

He never sees this ghost girl again.

_ten_.

He needed quick money, and modeling for a class of art students was his best option. Fully clothed, he sits worn wooden stool with his shoulders back and posture upright. He surveys the artists scribbling away at their easels, but his eyes catch on one girl.

She has charcoal smeared on her cheek and the stub of a pencil tucked away behind her ear. Her face is flushed with focus, brows knit with concentration as she sketches his body to life on a canvas.

She never looks up at him, but she knew his face best.

_eleven. _

He heals. She destroys.

It doesn't take much to figure it out.

_twelve_.

Her new Spanish tutor taps his pen against a large stack of flashcards and watches her struggle with conjugating imperfect verbs. She is pretty sure her tutor fluently speaks more than five languages when she can barely master English, never mind Spanish. They study together for a few more hours, despite her building frustration and his endless patience.

Afterwards, he offers to buy coffee. She accepts.

_thirteen_.

He plays the hero and the knife in his chest is proof that he saved the dragon.

_fourteen. _

They meet at a bar, single and lonely after too many drinks. She mutters something about being an aspiring artist and he instantly captivates her with his knowledge of avant-garde art movements throughout the past century.

Fifteen minutes later, they're hooking up in an empty bathroom stall.

The next morning, they're just forgotten faces.

_fifteen. _

When she is strapped in the hospital bed with a failing heart, they don't expect her to live past the week. She has a rare genetic heart disorder, one that killed her grandmother and one that will kill her.

The miracle arrives in the form of a heart transplant from a boy in Florida. He didn't need it as much as she did.

_sixteen. _

In the holiday spirit of paying it forward, he offers to cover the cost of the coffee for the girl behind him. He stalls by the counter to wait for his drink. The girl catches his eye and gives him a thankful smile as she tells the barista her latte order.

It's the first time he catches her name: Mara, written in silver sharpie on a red Starbucks cup.

_seventeen_.

She is a quick, flirtatious smile as she passes through the hall, a half-hearted wave at everyone who calls her name. As much as he would like to learn more, it's not like she will ever give him the time of day.

He adjusts the tie of his school uniform and moves on.

_eighteen_.

The storm is worse they ever could have imagined.

He reaches over and clutches her hand in his, weaving their fingers together. She takes in a deep breath and closes her eyes.

Then the waves pour over them.

_nineteen. _

She's a hastily scribbled number on the back of his hand with black eyeliner. He doesn't even get a name.

_twenty. _

He lives across the ocean in London with a beautiful younger sister, a mother who spoils him too much, and a father always away on business in the States.

She lives in a suburban town in Rhode Island with two perfect brothers and parents who love her unconditionally.

The only tragedy is that they never meet.

_twenty-one._

Mara dies in his arms, or maybe Noah dies in her arms.

* * *

><p>(+ <em>author's note<em>)

twenty-one parts because noah shaw's birthday is on december 21st. consider it a late birthday present.  
>retribution ruined me, and this is what is left of the wreckage; just everything about that book.<br>inspired by "don't bring tomorrow" by thequeenofokay + "coexisting" by xoxomolls because alternate universes and no happy endings.


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